Losing a Layer
by Missyhissy3
Summary: Set late Season 2: Maybe not the Commander's finest hour... Tom Paris's PoV
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: the characters are obviously not mine.

AN: I started this a long time ago, and couldn't finish it – but I recently promised I'd try, so here's what I've got. Big thank you to northernexposure for the beta read and the encouragement. Reviews obviously welcome.

Losing a Layer

Set late Season Two, sometime after 'Innocence'

So, I'm minding my own business in Sandrine's, about to take my final shot and wipe the floor with Dalby – never fails to improve my evening – when I get the call. The Doc says I'm needed at the diplomatic dinner the Captain and Chakotay beamed down to earlier. Says Janeway called up and demanded someone bring down a medkit immediately. I'm still in my uniform, so I head straight to sickbay to pick one up and then on to the transporter room.

XxX

It takes me a while to spot them when I enter the dining room, because I'm looking for the red and black of his dress uniform and I don't see it. Finally I see them. Or him, rather – because most of what I can see is Chakotay's back. She's sitting in one of those bar stool-height chairs, and from here it looks as if she's wearing her first officer as a wrap.

He has her cornered – her chair is backed up against the wall – and she's peering out furtively over his bowed head. One of his arms is around her shoulders and the other across her body, holding onto the arm of the chair. From here it looks like he's pretty much holding her prisoner in that chair, and his head is lolling forward suspiciously. I can already tell that he isn't himself. Guess he's the reason I'm here with the medkit.

She's already looking my way, and I waste no time in getting over there. She has a cup in her hand, and there's an earthenware goblet on the table next to them.

"Captain," I offer, "what can I do for you?"

"You took your time, Lieutenant!" Janeway accuses, none too happy it would seem.

"I got here as soon as I could, Ma'am," I point out.

She tries to get her hand out from underneath Chakotay enough to gesture towards the medkit I'm holding. "Scan him, now!" she hisses.

From the looks of him, either he's asleep standing up – or he's about to pass out on top of her. I whip out the medical tricorder and scan him.

"What's the _matter_ with him?" she demands immediately.

The big guy tries to look up, and I see his eyes almost roll back in his head as he tries to focus on our esteemed leader.

"I tried to get him to sit down, but, suffice to say, he's not being very… cooperative," she goes on. "And I'm not having security carry him out! He already insulted the Ambast- _Ambassador_."

"Just gimme a minute," Chakotay gets out, before his head lolls forward again to rest on her shoulder.

My scans of him send me in search of the source of the contaminants. So I scan his drink. Pretty much all the bells and whistles there are on this thing go off. " _This_ is the matter with him," I tell her, flicking the tricorder shut.

"Why? What's in it?"

"I could bore you with a long list of the toxic ingredients, but basically, Captain, 'unfit for human consumption' just about sums it up," I tell her. "I'm guessing you didn't try this particular delicacy yourself?"

"No, I just had the coffee," Janeway replies, as she hands me her cup to hold while she tries to wriggle out of Chakotay's almost embrace. "They said the other drink was a _traditional_ and very _ancient_ beverage – something they've been producing for millennia."

"Guess the Commander just couldn't resist then."

"'I'm afraid not," she sighs. "He'd already had two before I noticed anything was wrong – I presumed it'd been tested along with everything else!"

Chakotay lifts his head again and shakes it to one side slightly and his right hand finds its way from the arm of the chair to hold her waist.

"Le's get out of here, Kathptain," he slurs right in her face.

" _Yes_ , Good idea," she says loudly, craning past him, her hands fluttering nervously in the small space left between them. "Look, Commander, Mr Paris is here so it's time to go back to the ship."

I put my hand on his shoulder and try to turn him, but he completely ignores me - he's not giving an inch. The man is immovable. It's like trying to get between a bear and his dinner.

"Le's go outside. S' beautiful here. Le's gesome air," he says to her.

"Yes, let's you and me go outside now, Chakotay," I say loudly, getting hold of his shoulder and trying to turn him my way again.

This time he momentarily releases her waist to give me a hefty shove. "Getcha hands off me!' he growls, and I realise too late that being wasted doesn't seem to have had much of an impact on how damn strong he is, because I nearly lose my balance.

I silently curse whoever decided I was the right man for this mission. I'm still persona non grata with him after some of my all too convincing and memorable performances a little while ago – and this is unlikely to help my cause.

I figure patience isn't always a virtue, and I'm already getting tired of looking at the back of his thick neck, so I tug him forcefully round to face me in one swift movement. The Captain grabs the opportunity to duck under his arm and escape his clutches. She's quick – far too quick for him in his current state, and she curtly nods her thanks to me as she beats a swift retreat towards the exit, her green evening gown flaring out gracefully behind her. She looks pretty good from the back. It's always a breath of fresh air to see her out of uniform. Shame I didn't get to see the front of the dress without him draped all over it.

He sways a little before steadying himself on the chair, head hanging down again. He's still ignoring me – I'm wondering if he even knows who I am – and as soon as he stops swaying he looks up again to search the room for her, so I move in front of him, obscuring his view.

"Get outta my way," he grunts. "Need to talk to the Captain!"

"That's not going to happen right now," I placate.

"Fuck you, Paris!"

"That's not gonna happen either." Guess he did know it was me.

For a moment I'm not sure whether he's going to swing for me or keel over, but suddenly he sways so badly that I instinctively move in and grab him around the waist. This time he allows me to steer him back to lean against the chair he'd had his captive audience pinned to. Then I almost fall over as I step back and slip on something underfoot, which turns out to be his dress uniform jacket. I pick it up and dust if off.

He gestures in the vague direction of the long dinner table in the middle of the hall. "Scaly tongued bastard. _Ambassador_ ," he spits. "Couldn't keep his hands off her!"

"Not like you, of course," I risk quietly, because it's obvious he's too far gone to pick up anything that isn't said very slowly and at full volume. I open the medkit and quickly load the hypospray with all the detox there is and press it to his neck while he continues his tirade.

"Shouldda seen him- couldn't wait to start pawing her. Kept sliding his hand down her back, trying to slip it into that- the back bit. That bit at the back of her dress. You know, the... gaping bit…jus' there," he gestures vaguely. "When she sat down. Wanted to get his hand in there- against her skin and slide it down under-"

"Good job that you were paying such close attention, eh?" I cut him off, because that's as much as I can take of that, frankly. "Good job you were looking out for her – so there's nothing to worry about now. "

"Where's she gone?"

"She beamed back up to the ship."

"Gotta check that Ambastard didn't follow her…"

The detox should have some immediate effect, but I'd say there's nothing doing yet. Although I think the alien chemicals may have actually enhanced his sense of humour.

"Come on, Commander," I cajole, "let's go." I sling the medkit over my shoulder and stuff his jacket under my arm, ready to go. He doesn't move. "We need to get to the beam out site. It's not far. Come on."

Still nothing. He's starting to droop again and if he keels over onto the floor I'm definitely going to have to call for help to get him up and out of here.

"Chakotay," I almost shout, as I try to haul him away from the chair he's leaning on. "Let's get back. The Captain is probably already back on the ship by now."

"Damn it, Paris," he mumbles, but with less conviction than before and I know I've gotten through to him this time. Somewhere in that thick skull of his he probably knows he needs to get back to the ship. I have to really yank to get him to move though, and the man weighs a ton! But eventually we're up and I drape his heavy arm over my shoulders and grab him around the middle again so I can steer him towards the exit.

We make our way unsteadily across the dinner hall, with him nearly tripping over his own feet more than once and me nearly dropping his stupid jacket. A waiter takes pity on me, and holds the doors open for us and I manage to somehow manoeuvre us through and we're finally at the beam out site.

Then it hits me that my troubles aren't over yet. What the hell am I supposed to do with him once we beam up? Sickbay, I decide, even though I'm pretty sure the Doc won't be able to do anything more than I've already done. At least then I can make a quick exit and he won't be my problem anymore.

"Paris to _Voyager_ – two to beam directly to sickbay."

XxX

By the time I get him to sickbay and balance him against a biobed I feel like I've done my good deed for the day several times over. I'm already looking forward to trying to salvage what's left of my evening, but it seems the Doc has other ideas. Don't know if it's just me, but he seems to be going out of his way to be even more helpful and charming than usual this evening.

"There's nothing more I can give him. This is a sickbay - not rehab. I have real patients to deal with. The consequences of his self-inflicted excess aren't going to kill him."

I look pointedly around the empty sickbay, but the Doc's expression is unchanged and I sense where this is headed. "He only drank two glasses of the stuff actually," I throw in lamely.

The hologram frowns sceptically. "Anyway, I see him in here far too often as it is. It makes a change to be able to send him on his way without having to spend hours reconstructing several parts of him."

"Drink plenty of fluids and get some sleep, Commander," he says loudly to Chakotay, patting him on the back.

Chakotay burps.

"He's all yours, Mr. Paris - the walk back to deck three will do him good."

As the Doc strides purposefully back into his office, for a couple of seconds I wonder vaguely whether I should ignore the Doc's recommendation about walking and protect my commanding officer's reputation by getting us a site to site instead. Chakotay's a pretty private kind of man, after all, and he likes to stay in control.

He burps again and I watch him for a moment. "Jus' tell me where he is," he mutters. "Fucking _Ambastardor_ ," he adds, as his head droops forwards onto his chest.

Nah. It's good for the crew to see that their leaders are only human, isn't it? And Janeway is obviously some sort of superwoman, so I figure Chak here needs to be doubly human to compensate. And how better to appear approachable than to be seen to get totally plastered once in a while? I'm sure he'd approve of anything that's for the benefit of crew morale, so I decide to follow medical advice.

"Maybe you should wear your jacket, Commander?" I venture, gingerly draping the dress uniform jacket loosely over his shoulders. He doesn't protest and then we set off in plain sight down the corridor towards the 'lift.

Unfortunately he seems to be overheating and shakes off the jacket only a few minutes later as I'm trying to bundle him into the 'lift.

"Fuck it!" he snarls. "Gotta get outta this clown suit!"

"Well I guess you didn't really need that," I say. Then I realise he's already pulling at the collar of his turtleneck and mumbling more expletives.

"Or that," I add as he gets it up and over his head.

"This thing is too damn tight," he protests from inside it, as he fights his way out, and I give up trying to keep a hold of him.

I lean against the 'lift wall, wishing there was someone else here to share the madness with a few seconds later when he gets the thing stuck over his head. I finally take pity on him and yank it off for him, so he's standing there in his grey regulation tank.

"S'better," he remarks, rubbing a hand over his face, "s'always so damn hot in those things."

He's got a point – I do wonder sometimes why we have to wear so many layers. But if he starts on his pants, I'm calling for an emergency stop and rethinking the site to site.

When we exit the 'lift, en route to his quarters he starts to get chatty – maybe it's the detox finally kicking in. The weight of him on my shoulders lessens too – we're talking half grown rather than a full size grizzly now.

"She's a woman you know. The Captain."

"Can't get much past you, can we, sir?"

" _Beautiful_ woman, I mean. So goddamn beautiful, she is."

"If you say so."

"Shouldn't have to put up with it."

"Put up with what?"

"You mustav seen'em."

"Seen who?"

"They're always staring, or pawing her. Wanting her. Thinking about what they'd like to do to the little minx. Lecherous bastards."

 _Little minx_? Seems I'm not the only one here who has had unprofessional thoughts about his commanding officer at some point.

This is turning into one strange evening. Let's face it, intoxication rarely improves anyone's personality – except from their own warped perspective. If anyone had asked me, I'd have guessed the big guy would either be an aggressive or a maudlin drunk, but I'm not sure I would have expected the fixation on Janeway. Then again, maybe he's gone without for a little too long now. Too damn proud to use the holodeck like the rest of us, I wouldn't mind betting. And she did look pretty good in that dress. I'd have expected him to still be smarting over how she left him out of the loop with the spy plot, but I guess he must have forgiven her sooner than he has me.

So – we finally arrive outside his quarters and I waste a good five minutes trying to get him to key in his code until I admit defeat.

"Paris to Torres.

" _Torres here. What do you want?"_

"Was sobering up the boss your department back in the old days, or do I need to comm Ayala?"

" _Chakotay's_ drunk _?"_

"In a manner of speaking."

" _What did you_ do _to him, Paris?"_ she spits.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence! _I_ didn't do anything to him. He did it to himself by trying some deeply spiritual alien cocktail."

" _Oh. Well, first off I'd recommend moving to a safe distance and hiding anything breakable."_

"That bad?"

" _He never was much of a drinker. Don't think alcohol agrees with him."_

"Any other tips?"

She pauses. _"Far as I remember he usually managed to stagger to his bunk and the rest of us just stayed the hell away 'til the next morning."_

"Right. So – just dump him in bed?"

" _And pray he doesn't remember anything about it tomorrow."_

"Got it. And you don't happen to know his code do you?"

" _He's forgotten it?"_

"In as much as we're on our tenth attempt, I'd have to say yes."

" _That bad, huh?"_

"That bad. So, any ideas? All I know is that he keeps punching in 5s and 2s, but so far we're not getting that magic number."

" _Try 0152"_

"OK." I try it and we're in. "Thanks. What is it? Someone's birthday?"

" _No,"_ she sighs. _"It's the Federation membership number of his home colony_."

Now that's not what I was expecting.

"Well that's cheerful." I reply, a little taken aback. "I can't imagine I'd want a constant reminder of something like _that_."

" _Some things you don't forget,"_ she says as our conversation suddenly falls flat.

"Thanks, anyway, I'll be OK from here," I say and she closes the channel.

So – I get him inside, point him at the bed and hang the jacket from the clown suit over a chair. He more or less falls flat on his face, but eventually, after I pull off his boots, he seems to shift into a more plausible looking position for sleep.

I put a glass of water next to his bed and find myself watching him for a moment, wondering how the hell he'll get through his 07.00 bridge shift with Janeway tomorrow, when I actually hear him mutter, "Thanks, Paris."

It stops me dead, as I hadn't realised he was still conscious, let alone together enough to be expressing gratitude, and I'm suddenly feeling awkward about still being here. "Don't mention it," I hear myself saying, and I mean it.

I'm just glad he doesn't seem to be still bearing a grudge. After everything, maybe we're quits.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I had intended this as a one shot really, but now there's this. Big thank you, as ever, to northernexposure for the encouragement and the beta read and to everyone who's left a review.

* * *

Two

It's amazing what a difference six hours can make.

He looks immaculate. His uniform is protocol perfect and he doesn't have a brush cut hair out of place. By some stroke of luck or genetics he doesn't even have bags under his eyes. In fact he probably looks better than I do, given the fact I found myself back in Sandrine's for a quick nightcap after I unloaded him onto his bed last night.

There's a split-second flicker of uncharacteristic hesitation when he clocks it's me, but he masks it well as he steps into the turbolift beside me.

"Good morning, Commander," I offer cheerfully.

It's not until I hear him rasp back with "Lieutenant," in an unmistakable morning-after voice that there's anything that would give him away at all. I shift a fraction to make room as he enters and we find ourselves shoulder-to-shoulder, eyes front.

"Bridge," he croaks, before quietly clearing his throat and sending a faint whiff of mint my way. Guess he must have felt the need for some serious gargling since we last met.

That initial moment of uncertainty could just be because he was caught off guard by the twist of fate that has us riding up to the bridge in the 'lift together this morning, or maybe it's because seeing me means that unwelcome bubbles of memory from last night are popping up for the first time now to burst on the surface of his hung-over brain.

Eyes glued to the door and hands clasped behind our backs we make it through the first few seconds. Then I risk a casual sideways look at him.

"I hear we broke orbit ahead of schedule last night," I test.

He just nods, staring straight ahead, but I notice a muscle in his eyelid twitching. It's crystal clear he's not in the mood to make conversation, and I can live with that, so I turn back to face the doors again.

It's only about two more seconds until he cracks, though.

"Computer, halt turbolift," he orders, then turns to face me. "About last night-"

He breaks off, so I just wait patiently.

"I presume the Ambassador got safely back to his residence?" he asks.

For a moment I don't catch on; and by the time I do, I've been too slow replying.

"It was a long day," he goes on, "and the details are a little sketchy. So…" he says, eyeing me like I'm some sort of voice activated bomb that might go off if he says the wrong thing.

"The Ambassador and all his party left as planned, yes," I confirm. "All in perfect health, sir."

He nods, obviously relieved to hear that. Maybe he was worried he'd decked the scaly-tongued Ambastard.

"And the Captain?" His voice is a tentative rasp. "She left quite early on?"

"Well, no, only a little before you did, actually."

There's a flicker of panic in his eyes but he doesn't say anything. He just swallows, so now I'm wondering what he did – or what he suspects he did – before I got there. Either way it's clear that those unwelcome memories of last night are continuing to pop up and surprise him. A feeling I'm not unfamiliar with myself.

"I see," he says. "Then if there's anything I missed, that you could fill me in on…"

As he trails off, I'm finding it slightly annoying that despite the humiliating subject matter he's managed to reclaim that tone of natural authority.

"Well it was hot and stuffy in there, as you know," I go on casually, "and after the Ambassador left, things were getting a little… _close_ for a while, so the Captain decided to leave too."

"Close?" he swallows, seeming a little less sure of himself.

"She probably just needed some air."

His brow furrows.

"And some space."

"I see." He clears his throat again then says, "Computer, resume," sounding a little strangled now, and we both turn back to our eyes forward 'at ease' stance as the 'lift takes us the last few metres.

I'm not sure what he was hoping I'd say, but I've a feeling that what I just said wasn't it.

To my mind though, I think his chances of survival are better if he goes in there and rolls out a blanket apology, despite the fact he doesn't seem to remember yet exactly what it is he needs to apologise for. Sometimes you just have to eat that humble pie, even when you feel like you're about to throw up.

He's probably wishing the ship wasn't so damn small that someone like me ends up knowing his business; but maybe he'll just have to get used to it. The way things are going out here, it doesn't look as if anyone's going to be giving me the order to land _Voyager_ on the Presidio any time soon. The way I see it, Chakotay and I are likely to see the best and worst of each other a few times over before we part company this time around.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: And here's a little bit more – a very little bit. Hope someone still enjoys it. Big thank you to nothernexposure for the beta read and to everyone who has left a review. I really appreciate it.

* * *

Three 

I don't think much more than five minutes can have gone past before I hear the door release, and I can't help but glance to my right. Rather than taking his seat in the command centre, a slightly flushed looking Chakotay heads up the steps and tells Tuvok he's going to his office to work on the duty roster. Yeah right. To work on lying horizontal on his sofa more like.

Wonder if he actually remembers what he got up to last night yet? My guess is that Janeway would either clear the air by taking the bull by the horns, or make him a cup of tea and carry on as if nothing happened. I'm just debating with myself which is more likely - when I hear her voice.

"Janeway to Paris. Report to my ready room, Lieutenant," she orders crisply.

I can't help but raise an eyebrow as I acknowledge her order and turn to get up. I catch Harry's eye at ops. He's probably wondering why the Captain wants to see me – he's not the only one.

XxX

When I enter I find her facing the low shelf that runs along the wall on one side of her desk. She puts down the holo-image she's holding, then turns to face me and gestures towards the raised seating area. "Have a seat, Tom," she smiles, and she follows me up.

Tom? Guess I'm not in trouble then.

"I just wanted to thank you for your help last night," she says as she settles herself on the sofa.

"No problem, Captain. Just doing my job," I reply cautiously, wondering why I'm really sitting here.

"I think we both know what you did last night went a little above and beyond…" she remarks as one corner of her mouth twitches up a little.

"When you put it like that…" I fight back a smile as my facial muscles stage a small mutiny. "I guess I wouldn't have exactly put myself forward for the post of first officer's minder if he'd been recruiting."

"Well, you did a damn good job," she says. Then there's a slight pause as she fiddles with her combadge. "Commander Chakotay doesn't seem to remember a great deal about the evening," she goes on, her tone casual - but the way her eyes are boring into me gives her away. "And I think it's best if it stays that way."

"I'm not about to remind him, Captain," I tell her honestly. Does she really think I'm that foolish? He's already had all the hints he's going to get from me.

"Good. And I'd appreciate it if the details of your late night mission didn't become common knowledge among the crew."

"Of course," I say, a little surprised that she's worried that as well as being a fool, I might also be a gossip! Seems the Captain's opinion of me isn't quite as high as I'd like it to be. Although I suppose I kind of did tell B'Elanna - the wasted part at least.

"Thank you, Tom. It's a small ship, so people have to look for diversion wherever they can find it - but I'd rather it wasn't at the Commander's expense this time."

Or hers, let's face it. Because there isn't really all that much to gossip about unless she's in the mix.

 _This_ time _,_ she said _._ _Last_ time left a bitter taste in more mouths than just mine and Chakotay's, that's for sure. While I'm still processing this, she moves swiftly on.

"Between beaming up and reaching the Commander's quarters, were you seen by anyone other than the Doctor?"

Even though she's doing everything she can to make this seem like another casual enquiry, she's holding herself just a little too still while she waits for my answer.

"No, Ma'am. Between sickbay and deck three, I only saw the back of Ensign Kaplan, and she wasn't looking our way." I remember seeing Kaplan at the end of the corridor as we wobbled our way towards the 'lift, but that's all. Pretty sure she didn't turn around.

"That's good to know," Janeway nods and then she stands, so I follow suit. Suddenly it's business as usual, and before I know it, she's dismissed me and I'm already on my way out.

I smile to myself as I take over at the helm again, imagining her 'to do' list this morning.

 _Sort out Chakotay; quick rap to his knuckles – quote a few fraternisation protocols; then do some damage control with Mr Paris._

All boxes checked. Mission accomplished in less than five minutes, all before mid-morning coffee.

Damn she's good.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Ever since this one-shot morphed into a story, I've felt like I really should finish it, so here it is. Thank you, as ever, to northernexposure for the beta read and the encouragement, and also thanks to Photogirl1890 for the post-messing-typo-check and to everyone who's been reviewing, I really appreciate you taking the time. Tom's penultimate remark is a name-check to a story I enjoyed from the VAMB secret summer exchange - "All Part of the Service" by Delwin. If you haven't already read it, then maybe you should - it's a really good read.

* * *

Four

Our paths cross again as I'm starting my shift in sickbay. It's one of my split-shift days – I'm at the helm before lunch, then there's a nice long stint with the Doc to look forward to.

Although the Doc's not actually here right now. We have no patients and Kes persuaded him to transfer himself to the holodeck to share the time she's booked. She's been encouraging him to use the holodeck occasionally, like he did when he entertained that Vidiian woman a few weeks back. Kes seems to think he's still pining after the good doctor Pel and needs distraction. Guess he's about the only member of the crew who could get involved with a Vidiian without having to check himself over for suspicious looking new scars every morning. Kes might have a point though, because it's possible his legendary bedside manner has become even more caustic lately.

I'm wondering whether to start on the work the Doc's left for me, or see if I can use his workstation to access that holoprogram I've just begun writing, when the door release goes, and B'Elanna marches in.

"See?" she throws out an arm in a wide gesture, "Look, the Doc's not even here. It's only Tom."

"Good to see you too, Lieutenant." I smile.

She pulls a face at me and turns to Chakotay, who's a couple of paces behind her looking nonplussed.

"What can 'only' I do for you?" I enquire.

"He needs an analgesic," she informs me bluntly, prodding the ship's surly looking first officer towards the nearest bio bed. "He has the mother of all headaches. He's been in one seriously bad mood all through lunch because of it." She stands in front of him, arms crossed and scowls and he glares back. "You need to give him something for it before he busts someone down to crewman just for looking at him the wrong way."

"You said-" the object of her tirade begins, but she cuts him off.

"Yeah, well sometimes I do that. Just take the damn meds and be done with it, Chakotay. I'll see you later," she says dismissively and heads for the door. You've gotta love how she handles him. No one else would get away with that.

As she passes in front of me she hisses, "Don't let him leave without giving him something. He's driving everyone crazy."

B'Elanna is still on her way out when his jacket comes off and he tosses it on the bio bed. I don't even need to scan him to see he's radiating heat like a small sun again, just like last night.

"You're probably gonna want to lose the turtle neck and just wear the tank under your jacket until you're off duty," I advise. "One of the things that'll be making you feel worse is your raised body temperature."

He just glowers at me, so I look more closely and notice the lack of ridges you can usually see around someone's shoulders. It seems he already ditched his tank or didn't bother with one at all today.

"She tricked me," he says, sounding resigned. "Said she had to come past sickbay to talk to you about something."

And he fell for it? Advanced tactics, eh? Now there's a class I wish I'd taken. Could have done with a few of his featherweight classes on my schedule back in my halcyon Academy days.

"Seems she has a devious streak," I say, as I move towards the medical console in anticipation.

"She can certainly be very persuasive," he understates.

"She doesn't take any prisoners," I concur.

"Over lunch she threatened to get Harry to pipe Klingon Opera into my office all afternoon if I didn't get something for my head."

"Oh? I've heard the overture to _Aktuh and Maylota_ can be quite calming actually," I offer.

The only reaction I get is a pursing of lips and some huffing, so I figure I'd better get to work on this bear with a sore head before it bites me.

"So, what'll it be? Hypospray of full-strength analgesic?" _Unless you'd still rather meditate this one away, Commander?_

"Sounds pretty good right now."

"Coming right up," I say as I load up the meds.

That stuff he drank last night was so full of shit you wouldn't want dancing about in your bloodstream that I'm actually amazed he wasn't in here first thing. It was always going to give him the mother of all hangovers. Last night's detox could only do so much, after all. He must be one stoical son of a bitch. Or maybe it's some mystic warrior masochistic tribal thing?

Anyway, he's clearly changed his mind now, and he's been leaning back against the biobed and with his eyes closed ever since I moved to get the hypo.

He opens them again as I cross to stand in front of him, and he tilts his head to allow me access to press the 'spray to his neck. I've put so much in it, I could probably perform minor surgery on him now and he wouldn't so much as squeak. Chakotay squeaking – now there's a thought.

He brings me out of my reverie – funny the weird places your mind can take you to on a slow day in sickbay – by reaching for his uniform jacket and shouldering his way back into it.

"Any better?" I ask.

He nods. "Thanks," he replies, as he tugs on his cuffs to adjust his jacket.

"All part of the service," I quip, realising that's probably pushing it only after it's out of my mouth. At least I manage to reign in the arm that almost patted him on the back.

"Good to know," he deadpans. Then he cocks his head slightly, fixing me with a steady gaze. "Although it's not a service I plan on using again any time soon."

"Also good to know," I reply, still holding his gaze, as a spark of familiar tension fizzles between us.

I'd say the Commander is finally feeling better.

[The End]


End file.
